Going to California?
Chapter 4 – Dr. Winterbourne Session 10
"I sexually harassed him!"
Dr. Winterbourne rose from her chair and came over to lead me to the one opposite her as I'd barely closed the door behind me before I started talking. I'd been mulling over getting an emergency appointment on Thursday but decided it could wait until my regular Friday session. "Wait a minute, Lily, just try to calm down. I don't know what you're talking about. Who did you sexually harass?"
"John!" I collapsed into the chair and buried my face in my hands. "I can't believe it ever happened! This is a catastrophe!"
That struck the doctor mute for a good thirty seconds. "Could you just take this from the beginning? When you came in on Wednesday, you were worried that he was going to get violent if he found out about Zach's job offer. Can you tell me what changed? If anything did?"
"Okay. Okay." I tried to get myself under control. Dr. Winterbourne offered me a glass of water and I took it. "When I went back to work after our session, I was pretty distracted and he called me out on it. We had sort of an argument and I got anxious enough that I fainted in front of him. He started pushing me and I told him about the job offer. All about it. He was pretty surprised to hear about the domme thing because I'm a talking lamp and all."
"Was he violent with you? Verbally or physically?"
"No, he was a little snippy at first but I think the fainting took the wind out of his sails. He gave me the rest of the day off and insisted I come back to have dinner with him because he wanted to ask me some questions about the whole thing. I don't know if he thought that was a date or not."
Dr. Winterbourne nodded. "What do you think?"
I sighed. "I think he probably did."
"What happened next?"
"I'd gotten up the nerve to tell him I wasn't going to say who offered me the job but he'd already figured it out. I don't think I told you that he and Zach had worked together closely on the project for Weyland-Yutani, so they know each other."
"Do they like each other?"
That made me pause. "I don't know whether Zach likes him. That hasn't come up in conversation, but I don't think there's any animosity. John behaved himself when they were working together. Mostly. And I think John sees Zach as too far beneath him to warrant any attention."
"Do you think John may become violent with Zach?"
"Only if he doesn't see potential for Zach being useful to him in the future."
"All right. So tell me what happened at dinner."
I took a breath, trying to organize my thoughts. "Everything seemed okay at first. He was pretty polite, considering how he is under normal circumstances. He wanted me to tell him about BDSM and said he didn't know much about it, but I'm positive he's done things in that sphere with his previous girlfriend."
"What happened with this girlfriend?"
"They broke up." I didn't want to talk about Stormfront dying. It was too big a clue as to who I really am. "Klara—I think she was using him and he figured it out. That's just from gossip, though. I don't know specifics. But I think he'd take her back if it was possible."
"Why isn't it possible?"
"She moved on to somebody else and is getting married. At least that's what I heard. She and I weren't friends."
"How long ago was this?"
"Months. Over a year." I hoped that wasn't enough information to figure out the connection with Stormfront.
"Okay. So he's asking you about BDSM. What did you say?"
"He wanted to know how I did things, not just BDSM in general. Oh shit, I just realized that." I put a hand over my eyes.
"Take it easy, Lily. If he asked you about a sexual subject and you answered him, I don't think that would qualify as sexual harassment on your part. Did he ask you to stop once you started talking about it?"
"No, he was pretty interested in it. We were talking like normal people and I wasn't afraid of him for once."
She looked confused. "Okay."
"He told me why he made me take my wig off in front of Kevin and Reggie. He said he wanted me to stop hurting myself and thought if people knew what I was doing that might make me stop it."
"Interesting."
"Then I realized he'd gotten me drunk and he admitted to doing it on purpose so I would be relaxed enough to talk to him without being scared."
Dr. Winterbourne was silent for a few moments. "That's-a little troubling."
"You aren't kidding. I thought he was going to rape me and made him promise he wouldn't. He's pretty scrupulous about keeping his word."
"And he didn't rape you, correct?"
I shook my head. "After that he insisted on taking me back to my apartment. We were outside saying goodbye and I don't know how it happened." I took a gulp of water, buying myself a few seconds before I had to admit to this. "I…kissed him. I kissed John. I wish I had died when I was born."
"Let's try to stay calm, Lily. How did he respond to that?"
I sighed. "He was into it until he remembered I was drunk and tried to beg off. That's when I started feeling him up."
Dr. Winterbourne was silent. "Did the two of you have sex?"
"No. He said he wouldn't because I was drunk and wouldn't make the same decision if I were sober. He did let me know that he'd be fully on board if I wanted that when I was sober."
"Okay. It seems like he has some understanding of consent." After another pause, she asked, "What do you feel about him showing interest in sex with you?"
"I'm afraid for my life! What do you think, with what I've told you about him? This is something he'll hold over my head and use as a weapon against me. It's my own fault, though. I should have known better than to drink anything." I put my hand over my eyes to hide the brimming tears.
"And that was Wednesday night?"
"Yes."
"How did he behave when you saw him the next day?"
"I didn't. He never came by my office and I sure didn't go looking for him. I didn't see him this morning, either. I spent all of yesterday and today waiting for Gus—he's the CEO—to call me up to his office and fire me."
"Do you think John's trying to avoid you now?"
"I couldn't get that lucky." I took another sip of water. "I think he's probably doing some thinking, figuring out the best way to manipulate me with what happened, and as soon as he figures that out he'll let me know."
Dr. Winterbourne said, "I know this is a sensitive subject for you, but are you attracted to John physically? Let's set aside his personality and any possible mental issues he may have."
"You mean put a paper bag over his personality?" I giggled. It was the first time I'd laughed since the Wednesday night disaster.
She smiled. "Exactly. If he didn't have those negatives attached to him, would you be open to having a relationship with him, sexual or otherwise?"
"He's a very good-looking man. I—well, I had some physical responses when I was coming onto him." That was the most shaming thing of all, and I felt sure Homelander knew I'd been aroused by him. What would he do with that knowledge?
"Last time you told me you didn't enjoy sex. Is having physical responses a new thing for you?"
"Uh—I've had them very occasionally. The vast majority of the time it doesn't happen."
"Could you tell me about the people you responded to in the past?"
"There was my first boyfriend, Rob. I'd gotten together with him a few months before my mother died. We never went all the way, but I did get some physical enjoyment out of making out with him in the back of his car."
"How old were you?"
"Seventeen."
"How did your mother die?"
"Lung cancer. My father—well, he was a very fragile man psychologically. She was the foundation of his world. He wasn't there at all for me after she died and we don't really talk anymore."
"Did you get along with him before your mother died?"
I nodded. "He was always remote—you know, the 1950s kind of father, but before that he was there. I knew he loved me."
"What happened with Rob?"
"Just the usual. I went away to college here in New York, and he went to school in Texas on a football scholarship. We were too young to make a long-distance relationship work. Or maybe we just weren't motivated."
"Were there any other people you responded to?"
"Yeah, a guy in one of my marketing classes when I was a sophomore. His name was Jared, and he was the first man I had sex with. It only lasted for a semester—I found out later he was a serial cheater, but he was the first guy since Rob that I felt close to. Then there was a guy I met at a club a few years ago in Barcelona and had a one-nighter with. I don't remember his name, but we had an immediate connection."
"So no women?"
"Nope, so I'm pretty sure I'm straight. Maybe I just have a low sex drive or something."
"You may be asexual. Or demisexual. I'm not sure we have enough information right now to decide. And you don't have any physical attraction to Zach?"
Oh shit. That reminded me. "I also let it slip to John that I have a psychiatrist. Not you in particular, but that I was seeing someone for the anxiety and hair-pulling."
"How did he react?"
"He didn't like it but we got off the subject pretty quickly. He agrees with you about the wisdom of having some scenes with Zach before I make any decisions about whether to take the job."
"All right. Do you have any sexual attraction at all to Zach?"
I laughed. "I wasn't trying to dodge the question, doctor. I just remembered about John. And no, not much of one."
"Has anything happened with regard to him and the job situation?"
Finally, something that wasn't completely humiliating to discuss. "I talked to him after our last session and I'm flying to Los Angeles this afternoon to explain the situation with John to him. He thinks I'm putting him off about the job."
"Were you?"
I raised one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. Maybe a little. I'm not comfortable with change."
"Do you trust Zach?"
What came out of my mouth surprised me. "No."
"Why not?"
I tried to gather my thoughts. "You remember I told you we got together when we were working on that company project and I put it down as a fling?" She nodded. "Well, I didn't mention the fact that I had to put it down as a fling because he ghosted me as soon as he was through with the project. He didn't answer phone calls or texts, and I got the picture quickly enough so as not to embarrass myself too much. When we had to do additional work on the project, he was very intent on getting back together, and I let myself get talked into it because it was easier to say yes than keep saying no. We have things in common and we get along, but I would have been fine if I never saw him again."
"Sometimes unavailability makes women more attractive to men. Do you think that might be what happened?"
"I think he felt more comfortable resuming an old relationship than starting a new one. Either way, it didn't have much to do with me except that he likes how I humiliate him."
"Do you like Zach?"
I shrugged again. "I thought I did. If I put aside what he did before, I still like him, but he's going to have to do some serious work to make up for the ghosting."
After the session, I called an Uber and went by my apartment to pick up my weekend bag on the way to LaGuardia to catch my flight. After I checked in and was shown to Oceanic Airline's VIP Lounge, I sent Adam a text.
At airport, waiting for my plane. I should be there around three-thirty your time.
He replied within five minutes. Anticipating. What do you feel like for dinner?
I thought about it and texted back. Sushi.
Adam fired back immediately. Great, I'll have my secretary make a reservation at Nobu.
We'd been there before a couple of times and I liked it. I sent him a smiley-face emoji and put the phone on airplane mode before settling down to enjoy the complimentary champagne before they called my flight. My stress level had dropped as soon as I left Vought Tower and I thought it would be rock-bottom by the time the plane landed at LAX. Maybe taking the job Adam was offering would be the best thing, despite all the issues. Showing up for work at Vought had been purgatory for a long, long time. Maybe I was ready to take a chance on Homelander's anger to get out from underneath his control.
I'd been in the air for about fifteen minutes when my phone made its text sound. It was Homelander. Where are you? I'm standing in your office and you aren't here.
My stress level shot straight up and I stared at the screen for at least a minute before typing a reply. I'm on a plane for Los Angeles.
Are you going to see Adam? was his reply.
Yes I am. Not that it's any of your business, I added mentally. Is there something immediate that I need to handle at Vought while I'm on the plane?
No, he sent back. But we need to have a talk on Monday when you get back.
Was he deliberately trying to ruin my weekend? But that was a stupid question—of course he was. I just hoped he wouldn't decide to fly to Los Angeles and insist on a meeting with Adam and/or me on some silly pretext. That sounds menacing, I typed and sent before I could second-guess myself.
He sent back a laughing with tears emoji and nothing else. I flipped off the screen and turned the phone off, shoving it into my purse. The last thing I needed was to spend the weekend worrying about what Homelander wanted to discuss with me on Monday, as if there was any real question. It seemed as if he'd figured out how to use the situation to his benefit.
When I landed at LAX the temperature was seventy degrees Fahrenheit, and I had my trenchcoat draped over one arm as I walked through the airport. I didn't have to hit Baggage Claim, as I hadn't checked my weekend bag, and it was only a few minutes before I spotted the driver with the signboard reading "Ashley Barrett." Adam hadn't sent his usual driver but had hired a limousine for me, and it felt like a real touch of luxury to be in the back alone, rather than trying to convince Homelander to do something he wasn't inclined toward before it stopped and disgorged him in front of a crowd, resentful and unpredictable, and me with my blood pressure spiking. No thinking about Homelander this weekend, I scolded myself. Just concentrate on Adam and figuring out what you want.
"Mr. Bourke is still at the studio, so he's requested that I drop you off at his home in Malibu and he'll pick you up for dinner there," the chauffeur told me.
"That's fine," I told him, although I felt a little sinking inside at going to his empty house. But it would give me time to unpack and get ready for dinner, so I put the foreboding away. I could use a nice relaxing hot shower after the texting with Homelander.
Adam had a housekeeper who came in three times a week, but today wasn't one of those days, so I had to text Adam to open the front door remotely for me. I'll be about two hours, he texted back. Editing's a bitch. Will be on time for Nobu.
I texted another smiley-face emoji and went in. His house was standard California redwood, glass, and chrome, directly on the beach, and reminded me a lot of the house in The Sure Thing. Was it just a New York thing that I felt so exposed in a house with so much glass? If I took the job, would we have to stay in this house or would he maybe consider getting a new one? I didn't especially care for the beach. Adam had enough money to look into getting a house in Beverly Hills or Bel Air or Calabasas, if it came to that. Did he want me enough to make concessions?
It had been my habit, in the months since we'd resumed our relationship, to sleep in the bedroom that connected to his. He preferred this because he had early studio calls and didn't want to wake me up, which was considerate of him. It had a four-poster bed that was convenient for tying a person up and sliding glass doors leading onto a balcony with a gorgeous ocean view, and a chrome-and-marble bathroom that had a tub that would fit four people easily. I could almost swim in it, and secretly I was happy that I'd never had to share it with him, as he didn't like bathing with anyone else.
Until I got inside the shelter of the bathroom, I didn't feel comfortable enough to remove my wig. Underneath it, my hair had grown out from when I'd shaved it after Homelander revealed my secret to the Deep and A-Train until it was about two inches long and had the texture of feathers. Adam had never seen my shaved head, and I wondered if now was the time. If he had trouble accepting what I would tell him about the leader of the Seven, I'd have to show him. I stared at myself in the mirror, seeing the dark circles under my eyes through this morning's makeup, and turned the shower on, setting the water for the hottest temperature I could take before stepping in.
True to his word, Adam arrived twp hours later, after I'd showered and applied fresh makeup and my wig was safely back in place. In his hand when he came through the door was a bouquet of deep red roses. "It's great to see you again, Ashley. You look terrific!"
I'd packed one of the fancier evening dresses from what Vought had sent after Homelander's email, a champagne-colored semi-see-through dress encrusted with lacy floral embroidery and thin straps crossing across the otherwise bare back. A mid-thigh slit exposed most of my left leg. It fit like my own skin. Since Vought hadn't had any fancy functions I'd need an evening dress for since Soldier Boy's attack, I figured I might as well get some use out of it here.
He handed me the roses and I buried my face in them. It had been years since a man gave me flowers. "If I'd known I had this waiting for me, I would have blown off the editing and come straight home."
So I was nothing to rush home for in regular clothes? I brushed off the remark and gave him a smile. "Well, it looks like editing's done for the evening. What time is the reservation?"
"Seven-thirty, so I need to get a move on and change clothes, then we can go. You can put those in a vase in the kitchen if you want." He gave me a peck on the cheek and went upstairs. I gazed at the stairs for a few moments before moving off toward the kitchen. I hadn't expected any grand romantic reunions, but he was unusually offhand. Was he taking it for granted that I was going to accept the job tonight? Sorry to disappoint you, I said to him in my mind.
Nobu was crowded, even for a Friday night. Adam's celebrity, along with a discreet bribe, got us a booth and a minimal level of privacy. My appetite had diminished considerably, even though I'd skipped lunch, and I looked over the menu with no enthusiasm. "What would you like?" asked Adam.
I shrugged. "The California roll, I guess, and miso soup. I'm not very hungry."
He looked worried. "Do you feel all right?"
"Well, I'm nervous about what I'm going to tell you. I'm dead serious-you cannot repeat what I say to anyone. Ever."
"Sure," he said, and I detected an undertone of condescension, of humoring the silly woman, and it put me on edge.
"I mean it, Adam. What I'm going to tell you could put both of us in danger." I had to stop talking when the waiter came to the table and Adam ordered for both of us, the California roll and miso soup for me and the pepper bass for him. That irritated me a little too.
"I've already said I won't say anything. Just tell me what's going on with you."
I sat back and regarded him with a level gaze. "Just as long as you know that if you tell anybody anything I'm about to say, Stan Edgar will end your life." Adam hadn't expected that, and his mouth dropped open. "And when I say he will end your life, he won't make your life difficult or get you blacklisted in Hollywood, and nobody will be able to connect him to anything. One day you'll be driving on a steep road and your brakes will go. One day you'll have an electrical fire at your house. One day you'll be leaving a restaurant at night and someone will shoot you, or knife you, and take your wallet to make sure the police think it was only a robbery and you were unlucky. But it will be because you couldn't keep your mouth shut and Vought won't abide that."
Adam stared at me in amazement as the waiter returned with our drinks, a glass of Prosecco for me and a Nobu Old Fashioned for him. He took a healthy gulp. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"As a heart attack. Can you abide by what I'm asking? If you run your mouth, Mr. Edgar might decide to kill me too."
A sigh escaped him. "Yes. I need to know what's going on with you."
"Vought—there's a lot of illegal activity going on behind the scenes. The PR people do their jobs and the public thinks the supes are all Dudley Do-Rights, but they can't see the truth. It's like Hollywood in the Forties. The studios controlled the publicity, so the movie stars could drink and drug and fuck to their heart's content, could commit vehicular manslaughter and rape and incest and every other sin you could name, but as long as they made money, they were golden."
"And the supes are the movie stars."
"Got it in one. And Homelander's the most movie-starry of them all. He's the reason I've been putting you off as far as whether I'm accepting your offer."
He leaned forward, and something dangerous stirred in his expression. "Are you with him? Is that it?"
"Don't be stupid," I hissed at him. "I'm scared to death of him. The first day I came back after I got fired, I'd gotten this supe named Blindspot to audition for the Seven and Homelander deafened him right in front of me. He wasted no time letting me know that worse would happen to me if I didn't do exactly what he said and spy on the higher-ups for him."
"Did you?"
"I went to Stan Edgar and told him what was going on, and he gave me the okay to report back to Homelander."
"What happened to the supe?"
"Compound V fixes any number of things. His eardrums grew back in a week and we bought him off with a settlement package. He owns a dojo up in Oakland now, under a different name. And that's the kind of thing Homelander does on the regular. He has a terrible temper and not much in the way of self-control. And, for whatever reason, he wants me in the job I currently have. That's the reason I've been stalling about your offer. I'm afraid of what he'll do. I'm afraid he'll get violent, with one or both of us."
Adam didn't know what to say, and we sat there in silence until the waiter brought our food and we had an excuse not to talk to each other. The unburdening made me feel lighter. Maybe now he could understand what I was up against.
The next thing he said to me was, "So you won't take the job."
"I didn't say that." His eyes whipped back to me. "It's just going to take longer than you want. I have to get an excellent exit strategy set up, one that will make Homelander think he's better off without me, and I'm still working on that."
He reached across the table to take my hand and kiss it. "As long as I've got hope, I'll give you as much time as you need."
"And I want to do some scenes with you first, just to make sure our styles mesh."
Adam grinned. "As many as you want, Ashley."
"I'm thinking a minimum of half a dozen. And you might decide I'm not to your taste after I domme for you a few times."
"Never happen." But I wished I was as sure as he seemed to be.
Adam seemed just as sure of what he wanted when we made out in the back of his car for the entire drive home, with the driver keeping a discreet eye on the road. Unlike with Rob, who'd confined our making out to parked cars on dark deserted roads, I got an intuition that Adam liked the semi-public nature of it, which I did not, but I didn't say anything. I'd given him a lot to think about, and maybe he wanted to distract himself.
My internal thermostat never went higher than lukewarm during the backseat make-out session, the string of kisses inside the front door, across the foyer, up the stairs to his bedroom, his bed, as his hands scrabbled at my dress and I heard the delicate fabric tear as he shoved it over my shoulders and past my hips to pool on the carpeted floor. I hadn't worn a bra, so I was naked except for a pale pink lace thong that almost matched the dress.
"Beautiful," he murmured as his hands covered my breasts, caressing the skin, stimulating the nipples, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn't see the disinterest in my eyes or expression. "You are so beautiful, Ashley."
Hey, I'm already fucking you. You don't have to lie anymore. But those words stayed safe in my brain even though I knew Adam would never hurt me for a sharp word. It just bothered me that he felt the need to reassure me about my looks in a town where every woman my age had double-digit cosmetic surgeries to their credit. I didn't even feel like bringing up the question of whether he intended to be faithful to me if I did become his full-time live-in domme. Somehow I suspected not.
More touching, more kissing, and I did what I usually did during sex: I faked it. He never had a clue that the convulsive movements, the moans erupting out of my mouth, my hands clutching at him, came from a place of pragmatism—my need to finish this.
But he still needed his little fillip of humiliation. "Ashley? Please tell me what I am."
That was my cue. "You're the worst director who ever fucking lived. You make Ed Wood look like Orson fucking Welles."
"Oh, yes," he moaned. "More, Ashley, don't stop."
"Cherry Bomb was the worst fucking movie I've ever seen." He grabbed my hips and buried himself deeper, thrusting hard and fast. I held back a noise of pain—I was nowhere near ready for it. How could he not notice I wasn't into this? But I gathered myself together, tried to regulate my breathing to help me relax, and continued. "I want you to tell me how the hell you got the idea that anybody, especially paying audiences, wanted to see a movie about teenage girls getting raped by rich old pedos while they're pretending to be superheroes in their minds. I'm surprised everybody who got conned into paying money to see that abortion didn't burn down the damn theater in revenge."
"Oh, yes, Ashley. I know. I know!"
"You are a talentless fucking hack, Adam, and you do know that. Do you lie awake at night, sweating, terrified that Hollywood's going to figure out that you got lucky with your TV show about teenage demon hunters and the VCU movies were a fluke? If you do, you're a damn sight smarter than I gave you credit for."
"Ashley!" he screamed and pulled me ever harder against him as he climaxed. I rolled my hips a bit, let out some convincing cries of pleasure, and pretended to come myself. It seemed the polite thing to do.
After we'd disengaged physically, he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me against him. "You're wonderful," he whispered. "I want you with me all the time."
I gave him a sweet smile to mitigate against the cruel, yet truthful, things I'd said to him in the heat of the occasion. "I have to figure out a way to get clear of Homelander without him deciding he needs to kill the both of us. Trust me."
"I do. I just wish he was actually the Boy Scout Vought makes him look like. He'd send you off with a healthy bonus and a reference if he were."
"Unfortunately…" I let my voice trail off. "But I'll handle it."
"You always do. I can't believe I actually liked that bastard." Adam rubbed a finger across my lips and removed his arm from my shoulders. "I'm going to have a shower. If you get hungry during the night, the fridge is full. Just eat whatever you want."
"Sure. Thanks, Adam." I knew a dismissal when I heard one and had been expecting it. Despite him having couched it as being for my benefit, the connecting bedroom was also a good place to send me when he didn't want anyone sharing his bed.
"I may have to go into the studio early tomorrow, so don't worry if I'm not here. We're having trouble with the editing—disputes with the numbskull executives." I made sympathetic noises and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before gathering up my dress, underwear, and shoes and hurrying off to my own room.
Another woman might have been angry, or hurt, especially because I was sure he was lying about the editing trouble, but it was a relief to close and lock the door behind me. Behind a locked door, I could remove the wig and put it on its faceless Styrofoam head, wash off the heavy evening makeup and everything else in another steaming shower, then slide into the oversize T-shirt I'd brought to use as a nightshirt, a white one with the Blondie band logo on the front. Despite the joyless sex and the earlier irritation when I thought he was humoring me, I felt a lot better now that Adam knew the truth about my job. Maybe now he would ease the pressure and let me try to find a way through the whole situation.
My phone woke me with its chirpy text sound early the next morning. I expected something from Adam, more excuses about work, but it was Homelander. Did you have a good time at Nobu last night? I recognize this dress.
That brought me wide awake and I mashed letters, frightened and furious. Are you in Los Angeles hovering and watching? Like an evil spirit, I thought but didn't say.
His reply was quick. No, I have TMZ to do that for me. Check the site.
Sure enough, there was a picture of Adam and me leaving Nobu. The brief story accompanying the picture was exactly the kind of thing to inspire a response from the supe. "Adam Bourke, director of Dawn of the Seven and the upcoming Tiaras and Cocaine, seen dining at Nobu with Ashley Barrett, the Director of Talent Relations at Vought International. The two seemed very cozy. A secret romance?"
Was Homelander mad about this? He knew I was going to spend the weekend with Adam and Hollywood is full of photographers looking to make a buck. Are you mad I wore a Vought dress to dinner?
I'm not mad. The dress is gorgeous on you. And it's still yours.
Thank you.
What are you doing right now?
Nothing. Adam went to the studio to work and I haven't gotten up yet.
RU naked?
I started laughing. With a grin, I typed back, Nope. Flannel granny nightgown, hair in curlers, green mud mask on face.
He sent back Yikes! with two emojis, a shocked face next to a laughing face.
But I bet you're naked.
The grin lingered as I answered him. Bet all you want—I'll never tell, followed by a wink emoji.
He texted back the laughing with tears emoji and that was the end of it. I got a few more hours of sleep and woke up to the realization that Homelander had done some light flirting with me via text, and I'd actually flirted back. Monday morning loomed even more ominous as I understood I'd just given him more ammunition against me. I didn't think he was tech-savvy enough to fake screenshots and text conversations, but with what we'd just exchanged, he wouldn't need to. Maybe Stan Edgar would just send me a text telling me to clean out my office and I'd send one back telling him to throw everything in the garbage. But I didn't really believe he was trying to nail me for sexual harassment. What in the world did he want? "You'll find out soon enough," I told myself out loud as I got out of bed and padded to the rainfall shower to wash away my troubles.
